


Reading the Fine Print

by Barbeauxbot



Series: Always Dragging That Horse Around: The Love, Marriage, and Everything Else In Between of Loki and Sigyn [6]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Thor (Comics), Tumblr: Fandom-Cracksmash
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbeauxbot/pseuds/Barbeauxbot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sigyn dabbles in something she thinks she understands. She and Loki find themselves in an awkward situation. The solution is easy enough, if they can stop bickering long enough to figure it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reading the Fine Print

There are stories, of course, of Loki being chained to his wife as punishment for one of his more egregious crimes.

It didn't go like that.

It happened not long after they were married. After the boys were born, after Loki returned from Nornheim, but long before anybody but they themselves knew the truth. And it began, as most things for them begin even still, (though especially during that time) as a game.

"No," Sigyn giggled. Her cheeks were flushed, and she laughed easily. She looked up at him through her lashes. Flirtatious. Positively _coy_.

Excellent.

"You are certain you do not wish for more wine, love?" He slid his fingers through her hair, his touch gentle as her tresses curled around his fingers.

She set her glass down and was quiet a moment. Loki went still, preparing for the possibility of a sudden mood swing. "Maybe a little," she said, very quietly. She shifted up to her knees, reaching over him for the bottle, the position lending him an excellent view of her breasts as they hovered directly above his face. He slid his hand up her thigh and she swat at him, giggling. "Stop, you will make me spill."

"I can think of worse fates." He grinned up at her. She giggled harder and bent over him, brushing her lips over his.

"I will stain your tunic." She said and nipped him.

"What if I want you to?" He teased, dropping his voice to a near-growl.

"You _do_ want me to stain your tunic. But not with wine." She grinned wickedly and traced a wine-dampened fingertip over his lips before carefully kissing away every trace. "I want to play a game."

"I love games," he said, lifting up into her kiss, his blood running hot.

"Good." Her grin sharpened and his breath caught in his throat. This was what so intrigued him about his wife. He desired her for her beauty, admired her for her intellect and was in awe of her strength. But what intrigued him was her edge of slyness. A part of herself that she kept carefully hidden to all but him.

It was a thought more intoxicating than the wine.

And he was about to say as much when the cuff closed around his right wrist. He sat up, the pleasant intoxication evaporating quickly. "What is this?" He asked, keeping his tone as calm as he could manage

She smirked and while he was mostly irritated, he was also aroused. "I told you, it is a game."

He lifted his wrist, the chain clanking softly. "And how does the game work, exactly?" The use of such things was hardly new to him, of course. But he found himself curious as to what Sigyn's ultimate purpose was. "Am I to be bound for your pleasure?" He traced his thumb over her lips and she blushed in an intensely alluring way.

She flicked her tongue over the tip of his thumb and his breath caught in his throat. "That remains to be seen."

"What if I wish to be?" He growled and slid his thumb past her lips.

She giggled and nibbled his thumb. "The game is you cuff yourself to the thing that is most important to you. The one thing you cannot do without"

He laughed a little. "That is all?"

She giggled and nodded. "I will take my turn after you."

"The most important thing," he drawled, pulling her close so that he might wrap his arms around her. She giggled against him and nodded, and he slid his hands over her curves. He lowered his face and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and tightened his fingers slightly over her stomach, where she had carried their sons. His need for her grew until it pounded in his ears.

"Hurry up and choose so I can have my turn!" She chided and wiggled against him.

He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply. "I find it very hard to concentrate when you do things like that. Though I suspect you are aware of that, saucy thing."

She trailed her fingertips lightly along the inside of his thigh. "Choose."

It was so obviously a test that it was almost insulting. The only thing saving her from his taking offense was the fact that he knew she would never be so blatant in a search for validation. So naturally the question arose: what was the catch? He decided to humor her by walking straight into her trap, and deftly snapped the cuff around her left wrist.

She sat up with a gasp, her eyes widening. He felt a soft jolt of magic pass along the metal. The cuffs were enchanted. _Of course_. "Why did you do that?" She demanded, yanking her arm away from his. Which had little effect, as the chain was short, and he was pulled forward slightly.

"You said I was to attach myself to the most important thing!" He exclaimed, and did his best to move the wine so that it would not be spilled. The next step in her obviously-rising temper was the gesticulating. This could get messy.

"Yes!" She threw her hands up, and again his arm was pulled with hers.

"The one thing I could not do without." He rubbed his forehead with his free hand.

"I am not a _thing_ , Loki!" She glared at him.

He glared back. "How could you possibly expect that I would not choose _you_ over… some object."

Her lip trembled and it was all he could do to not roll his eyes. The children started fussing in the other room and he flicked the fingers of his free hand, casting a sleep spell before they could wake fully.

"No! Do not do that!" Sigyn grabbed at his hand but it was too late.

"Why, why should I not?" Loki snapped, his patience worn completely thin.

Sigyn's lips turned down in an angry frown. "Nori has nightmares and sometimes he wakes himself out of them."

"They were waking because we are arguing." Loki hissed. "Over something so asinine—"

"You called me a _thing_!"

He growled low in frustration. "My intention was to pay you a compliment. It did not occur to me that the rules of the game would be so concerned with semantics as you. If you are resolved to find insult in that, there is little I can do to remedy it." He turned his focus to the cuff, his earlier good mood entirely gone. It was heavy, ornate, with a series of figures in suggestive poses carved along its surface. The thing was vulgar in a way that Sigyn usually wasn't. Which normally would intrigue him, but now he just found it irritated him more. Enough that while something about it seemed vaguely familiar, he couldn't quite place his finger on what. "There is an enchantment on this. How long does it last?"

"It is relative to the value. That is the game, to pick something worth more than what the other person picks." She sat with her knees under her, her hand in her lap. The other would be, as well, if he were not pulling on the chain so much.

"How does that even work," he traced a thread of magic over the locking mechanism and got shocked for his effort. "This is a thoroughly stupid game."

"I know," her voice caught in her throat. "It was supposed to be fun."

"Oh, like what I did was supposed to be a compliment. I see." He snapped.

She winced and he started wondering how much effort it would take to sever his hand and reattach it afterward.

"I suppose we can rule out feelings of self-worth as affecting the judgment of the charm." He turned the cuff on his wrist, trying to find where the locking mechanism was located.

"What do you mean?" Sigyn turned her great big eyes on him, brimming with tears.

He bit back a few choice words before answering. "Do you feel as if you are worth very much right now?"

She shook her head, a few tear spilling.

"This," he lifted his wrist, enough to make her arm move, "appears to disagree, does it not? Or it would have released us by now."

She blinked. "Oh."

He turned to pull his wrist into the light of the fire, trying to get a better look at the thing. Sigyn shifted a little closer, though still keeping as much distance as she possibly could. "Where did you get this thing?" He asked. There was no visible latch or seam. The charm appeared impenetrable.

"A friend." She said sulkily.

"And where did your friend get it, Sigyn? I am no longer in the mood for games." He shot her a glare.

She was quiet a moment before answering and this time there was the mood swing he had expected. And it was even worse than he anticipated. It wasn't anger or sadness or petulance. She looked down as she were collapsing in on herself as her soul took flight. A separation of her self and her body so she would not have to endure whatever was about to befall her.

He hated it when she got like this.

"Amora." She said, her voice soft and emotionless.

He took a breath and ran his hand over his face. _That_ is why it seemed familiar. "Of course." He knew how to make the cuffs release, and the answer was not what she had been told. But getting her back into a state of mind where it was possible to solve the charm was going to be an uphill battle. He entwined his fingers with hers, letting the chain that bound them together go slack. "My love, I am sorry for upsetting you." He stroked her cheek with his fingertips, leaning closer.

"I know you did not want to marry me," she blurted.

He froze. "What!?" He struggled to keep his temper. This was bad. If she continued to antagonize him they might never be freed.

"You just wanted to bed me and I refused and then one thing led to another and we ended up married after all but you did not _want_ to it just _happened_." She trembled as she spoke, the words tumbling out. She had believed this for a long time, he realized.

He grit his teeth. "Has it ever occurred to you that bedding you and marrying you are not, in fact, mutually exclusive desires? My honored _wife_?"

She covered her eyes with her free hand and choked back a sob. It was intolerable. Under normal circumstances he would simply leave when she began crying but that was impossible under current conditions. Teleporting was not an option, he winced at the memory of what happened the last time he tried to escape from the infernal devices that way. He wondered how long Sigyn would actually weep. Usually he avoided her for at least a fortnight once she started.

Again he bit back his anger and tried a different approach. "My love," he said softly as he gently curled his free arm around her and urged her into his lap. "If I did not wish to marry you in truth, I would not have signed the documents with my real name."

She stiffened and he clenched his teeth, keeping himself calm through sheer force of will. "But you did not sign with your real name. You signed Theoric's name."

"It was a glamour!" He burst out, throwing his arms wide before he remembered about the chain. SIgyn yelped as her arm was yanked along with his. He lowered his arms, lifting their bound arms over her head and holding her to him as if they were dancing. "I would not have that wretched name stain yours by being printed alongside your sublime syllables." He pressed his lips to her shoulder, seeking to soothe the ache.

"You signed your actual name?" She looked at him, her brows drawn together and her lips pursing slightly. "Truly?"

"Truly." He pulled her hair back and nibbled her throat. "Since the second time I met you, I knew I could only be satisfied with your hand."

She gave him a level look, thoroughly unimpressed. "Many hands have satisfied you, husband. And do still. Do not patronize me."

He growled teasingly against the soft skin of her throat and her breath hitched. Good. This was a positive development. "I was referring to your hand in _marriage_." He nipped her ear and she shivered against him. "Do you not wish to know what it was that convinced me?"

She lifted her chin haughtily and he slipped his fingers along the neckline of her gown. He could feel her respond to his touch, her pulse quickening, her skin pricking under his fingers, though she kept up the charade of being irritated. Or perhaps she still was, but her will to maintain her irritation was weakened by his attentions. This battle of wills, whether real or feigned, always sharpened his appetite. She _had_ to know. Saucy thing. "I do not know," she said, her tone bored even as she pressed back against him. "I remember you were so angry when you left that I burned your letter when I got home."

He frowned a little, making sure she could not see his expression. "No matter, I have sent you dozens to replace it." He lifted the hem of her nightshift and trailed his fingertips along her inner thigh. She gasped softly, her legs opening as if by instinct. He turned his face to brush his lips against the shell of her ear as he spoke, his voice low. "Of course you had caught my interest that first time we danced. You were beautiful and witty and so much more than a man like your odious betrothed could ever hope to deserve. And I wanted to take you to my bed and pleasure you until you could no longer remember the world outside the door." He traced his fingers higher along her thigh, just barely brushing his fingertips along her cleft. She bit her lip and made a soft, hungry sound in her throat. He grinned against her ear, and kept his touch light. "But it was not until we met in the woods that I came to understand that there were depths to you that I had not imagined. That perhaps nobody had, because you so very carefully maintained your bland veneer. And _that_ realization, my love, made me burn with curiosity to know you intimately." He spread her gently and traced his fingertip along her folds. She gasped sharply and leaned her head against his shoulder, her face beginning to flush.

"You do not need to marry somebody to know them," she countered. He watched as her breasts strained against her nightshift as she struggled to keep her breathing even.

"No." He traced his tongue around the shell of her ear as he slid a finger into her slick, inviting heat. She trembled, and he could feel himself hardening against her. "But to know you, I would. I would have you by my side for the rest of our lives, your brilliance and beauty and hidden, ever-shifting depths fascinating me for the rest of time."

She laughed breathlessly. "You are so extravagant in your declarations."

"I speak the truth," he growled, pulling his hand from her as he shifted to turn her to face him. He lifted their bound arms over her head and turned her as if they were dancing before urging her to lay on her back. "You deserve no less." He raked his teeth over her throat as she moaned.

"There are better uses for your tongue, husband, than speaking your half-truths and equivocations." She smirked as she curled her fingers in his hair and tugged, not too gently, urging him toward the apex of her thighs.

He lifted the hem of her nightshift enough to expose her and looked up to watch her as he traced his tongue over her folds. The scent of her arousal and the taste of her on his tongue was enough to push thoughts of Amora's infernal enchanted device from his mind. He opened her with his fingers and slowly traced his tongue around her, watching her closely as her eyes fell closed and her lips parted.

There was something deeply satisfying about pleasuring her with his tongue. Taking control of her through the tiniest actions, his tongue sliding along her most sensitive places, her body aching for his touch, while simultaneously prostrating himself before her. He slid two fingers into her as he wrapped his lips around her bud. She cried out softly and tightened her fingers in his hair, her back arching, her thighs tightening around his ears. He began to flick his tongue against her as his fingers curled inside, touching her deeply.

"Oh, Loki," she cried as her hips bucked against him and he growled into her. Every time she cried out his name it was a victory. He had overcome her objections and reticence and found a way to bind them together (figuratively, of course, though the current literal binding was feeling less onerous at this point). Everybody, including her, had tried to deny him but he was successful anyway. The sweet sound of her voice crying his name, knowing that his was the only name that would cross her lips in a moment of passion ever again, fueled his hunger for her.

She gripped his hair in her fist and yanked him against her as her hips bucked, her cries now wordless as her first climax wracked her. He sucked her nub as his fingers pulsed within her, growls escaping him as he clenched his other hand in her nightshift. He needed her. He needed to feel her clench around his cock as she came. He would have her, again.

She wailed and eased slightly, still breathing in harsh, ragged gasps. He moved over her quickly, lifting their bound arms over her head so that he could stroke his fingers through her hair. He lowered his face to brush his lips against hers. "You are delicious," he murmured.

"Kiss me, husband," she purred, arching up against him. "I want to taste myself on your lips."

He kissed her, deeply, his tongue plunging past her lips as she moaned low. He freed himself and settled between her thighs, his pulse pounding in his ears. Every cell of him screaming with how he wanted her. He broke the kiss, leaving her gasping. "Do you want me, love?" He asked, watching her face closely as a range of expressions danced over her exquisite features. She was so careful to keep calm in public. But for him the mask slipped. Grinding against her, he pressed his cock to her cleft. The heat of her, and the slickness dripping to her thighs, sent a bolt of powerful need through him until it settled at the base of his spine.

"I do," she gasped the sweet words, trembling, her eyes pleading.

He hesitated just long enough for her to whimper before plunging into her. She shrieked, her legs wrapping around his hips and pulling him deeper. She surrounded him. He lost himself in the feeling of her, gasping against her throat as he thrust into her tight, wet heat. She writhed beneath him, trembling and groaning with want. He was harsh in his movements, thrusting into her as intensely as he felt. She raked his back with her free hand as she shrieked against his neck.

He propped himself up and stared down at her as she met his eye, her own wide and dark with lust. Moving carefully, he lowered their bound arms and slipped their hands in between them. There was something intoxicating about the way their hands moved together, the feeling of tension at the end of the chain when she pulled against it. "Touch yourself," he whispered.

She let out a low, keening cry as she did so, her eyes falling closed and her legs falling open. The mask was fully gone, and she was left shameless, open and yearning for him. He gripped her hair in his fist as he pounded into her, his need a sharp, clawing thing that drove him further. She screamed as she came, and clenched rhythmically around his cock. He let out a cry as he, too, reached his peak and began to spill into her. Crushing his lips to hers, he held her close until she had drawn all from him.

He collapsed against her, clutching her to him. "Oh my love. My love," he murmured against her skin, slick with sweat.

She gentled her fingers on his back and smoothed her palm over the marks. He hissed as her touch stung fresh wounds. "I think I drew blood," she whispered.

He grinned. "Good." Pressing his lips to her throat, he inhaled deeply of her scent. There was something he did not mention aloud, something even more alluring than her beauty or considerable intelligence or ever-shifting depth. And that was her tranquility. The moments when he could press his face to her skin and feel her hands on his hair and her body against his and it was the closest thing to peace he had ever truly known. Her very presence was a balm.

He was still debating whether or not he should say as much when his thoughts were interrupted by a soft _clink_. "The cuffs!" Sigyn sat up slightly lifting her wrist and smiling widely at her now-freed hand. "What happened?"

Loki urged her to lay back down as he curled around her. "Your friend was misinformed as to the nature of the charm. They are released by sexual ecstasy, not whatever arbitrary metric of 'value' and 'time' they were describing."

Sigyn made a soft, considering sound as she stroked her fingers through his hair. Tension he did not know he even had began to seep from him. "How did you know?"

Some of the tension creeped back as the memories he had been attempting to ignore flooded back full-force. "She attempted to impress me with them once." He shrugged. "I would have recognized it sooner, but it was a long time ago and she failed in her attempts."

Sigyn hummed and kissed his forehead, and he was able to focus on her, there in front of him, instead of unpleasant memories. "Do you wish to keep them? Or shall I pass them along with the correct information?"

He grinned against her and tightened his arm around her waist. "I am more than certain that you and I will be able to invent uses for such a thing that even the Enchantress herself never considered."

She giggled throatily and pushed the cuffs aside as she curled one of her legs around his hips. "You did mention something about me binding you for my pleasure." She twisted a lock of his hair around her finger and tugged. "That notion… intrigues me." She purred.

Shifting over her, he kissed her slowly, savoring her lips. "Good. The boys will not wake for hours. Let us enjoy it."


End file.
